~ Waking Up for the First Time

My Story: Questioning

This is a long post, but it’s something I’ve been working on for awhile. In some ways this is more for me than anything–it’s helpful and encouraging to look back on how I started to leave the beliefs I grew up with and see how much I’ve changed. These are just a few of the many little moments that added up to a massive change in who I was.

I.

Click, click, click, I went from one blog post to the next, captivated. It was one in the morning. I’d been reading stories on the internet for hours. And I was overwhelmed with what I was uncovering.

Stories of people talking about homeschooling, patriarchy, and using terms like spiritual abuse, brainwashing, and cult.

It was horrendous, and at the same time a relief, like finding my people. The puzzle pieces were falling into place. I wasn’t alone. There were stories and stories of heartbreak, abuse, manipulation—stories that made my life look normal in comparison.

I wasn’t the only one bothered and affected by this culture, by these beliefs.

II.

It had started simply enough— brainstorming a list of topics for my high school research paper. I was tired of the typical topics that my peers chose. No, I didn’t want to do homosexuality. No, I didn’t want to do global warming. No, I didn’t want to do creationism/evolution. I wanted to research something I was actually really curious about.

I’d been thinking a lot about my experience with Gothard’s* teachings, and I couldn’t ignore the feeling inside that felt so repulsed by it. I really just wanted an excuse to sit on the internet and try to dig up dirt on Gothard to validate how I felt about IBLP. But I didn’t think I’d find enough information on Gothard, so I turned to a slightly wider topic—the courtship movement.

(*my experience with Gothard’s teachings will be a seperate post)

III.

I clicked to the next blog to read her story. As I read, it started to sound vaguely familiar. Like I knew this person. No, it couldn’t be. Could Libby Anne be…?

When I first stumbled upon Libby Anne’s blog, I was shocked. I had thought she was a Catholic (which in my mind, was not equivalent with Christian), but now I was reading her saying things like she supported abortion.

This was one of my best friends growing up, and I hadn’t had any contact with her in years, so I was pretty shocked to find out what she really believed.

Obviously, like any good evangelical, I wanted to save her immediately. But what could I say, what could I do?

IV.

I thought about it more, and I began to realize I simply couldn’t paint her as the rebellious prodigal anymore—the story her parents had told me. She had tried to do things “right.” She had tried to cling to her faith. She simply hadn’t abandoned it all to spite her parents or because she wanted to live a sinful, heathen lifestyle.

Maybe she wasn’t this big, evil, rebellious daughter—the boogeyman of our homeschool circle—her family had made her out to be. Maybe she had reasons, a story. And I started to wonder why everyone I knew had cut off all contact with her—held her at an arm’s length.

Was that right, I wondered?

V

I called my brother. We always talked about these kinds of things, him and I. I was trying to process the entire blackhole that had just opened in my imagination. The questions that had begun pouring in. Questions about the bible, questions about Christianity, questions about God.

Somehow the conversation came around to evolution. “But how can you believe that the Bible is true if the creation story isn’t literal?” I said, aghast.

“Surely, Kate,” he replied, “you’re not basing your faith on the story having to be a literal 6 day creation, are you? If anything, it’s much more beautiful and complex than that.”

I was stunned. Up until that point, I had never separated the two. I didn’t know that they could be separated. What was my good, Christian brother saying?!

“That dichotomy doesn’t have to exist, Kate.” He reassured.

I was silent, forced to confront myself. I had been basing my faith in Jesus on the fact of the creation story being literal.

I had never been presented a different option.

VI.

I soon realized that courtship was way too vague for the amount of information I was uncovering. One topic led to another. Gothard. Recovering Grace. Stories of people whose parents had tried to destroy their children’s relationship through micromanaging. Stories of homeschoolers who had received no education. Whole blogs critiquing Vision Forum and tearing apart purity doctrine . Articles critiquing modesty teachings and tying them to rape culture. Stories of homeschool children who’d been abused. Ruptures of people saying Harris had damaged their ability to have normal relationships. Whole discussions about emotional purity. And everything seemed to come back to Gothard. Then Christians critiquing patriarchy and calling for change. Then people called Christian feminists. Then people who called themselves Christian universalists. Then exploring orthodox Christianity and progressive Christians and Catholicism and Buddhism.

I was simply overwhelmed with information, with how small and interrelated everything in the homeschool world seemed, and yet how large and vast Christianity—and the world— really was. And suddenly wondering whether or not courting or dating was the “correct thing” didn’t seem to matter when faced with the injustice and the problems I was finding within this environment.

Until that point I had believed that those “weird” homeschoolers, those who were fundamentalist and didn’t receive proper educations, were few and far between.

But this simply wasn’t the case.

VII.

My research paper was done, but I wasn’t done researching. There were simply so many questions. I was writing hundreds of pages of thoughts, taking notes, and reading entire blogs. It was basically my part time job. And I was fast leaving the evangelical world behind.

My parents were worried about me, wanting to know what I was doing, what I reading, what I was learning that was so captivating. I didn’t want to tell them, and yet I didn’t want to exclude them entirely. Up until that point, I had believed that I was under my parent’s authority until I got married. Up until that point I had equated honor with obey.

Now I wasn’t so sure. How could I tell them that?

VIII.

I brought home a book by N.T. Wright and Christian Smith’s The Bible Made Impossible. I’d wanted to get a Rob Bell book, but they hadn’t had any. I wasn’t just trying to tear apart the courtship movement anymore; I was trying to save my faith.

A silence filled the room, when my parents saw the titles of the books. I’d meant to hide them, but for whatever reason, hadn’t.

My dad became angry, “Who are these authors? Do they believe in the authority of the bible? Do they believe in God’s Word? I don’t want you reading these, you could be deceived.”

I braced myself for more. Even though I was leaving for college soon, my parents felt like I couldn’t make my own decisions about my faith. In my mind I knew what my parents were saying didn’t make any sense, but it was difficult to protect myself from their fear and lack of trust. They told me that I’d be deceived, that the only truth is in God’s Word and “bible-believing writers.”

They told me I couldn’t trust myself to find truth.

I felt sick. What was I doing? My parents were saying I couldn’t trust myself; maybe they were right. Maybe I was treading on dangerously thin ice. Another book, more ideas and I might become an atheist. Maybe I was just eroding my faith, losing all my footing, all my morals, slowly.

I shuddered. But I still couldn’t stop.

IX.

I was visiting a friend, trying to laugh and talk like normal. But it wasn’t the same, and my laughs were forced.

I felt awkward, sensitive to this environment that had once felt like home. I wanted so desperately to be honest with her, to be on the same page once again, but I knew that my dream was simply a fantasy.

I couldn’t tell her everything I was questioning, she simply wouldn’t understand. How do you summarize a year and a half’s worth of questions, and reading, and thinking? How do you start a conversation to confess that you’re no longer the same person? That you’re not really satisfied with the brand of faith your friend is subscribed to? How do you say that you don’t see life in black and white anymore?

I wasn’t ready for the rejection, for the disappointment. So I said nothing, thinking maybe ignorance is better.

I hated myself for lying about who I was.

x.

I realized my faith had changed drastically when I heard the pastor say “I still believe in hell!” and people applauded. I felt sick. As if celebrating people’s demise and punishment was something to be cheered for. Were they cheering for justice? I’m not sure.

But how could justice be attained by making people, even enemies, suffer eternally and consciously in hell? Is that really justice?

I used to have frequent panic attacks about my salvation, but now….I wasn’t even sure if I believed in hell.

XI.

God, I prayed, God, I’m so lost right now.

I kneeled in the quiet church trying so desperately to cling to my faith, to make sense of all the questions and chaos in my life. I’d never felt so confused; I’d never wanted so many answers. But they weren’t the kinds of questions that someone can answer and make you feel better about. They were the kind of questions you simply have to live through, have to experience.

I’d found my way to this church, somehow. Drawn to the liturgy, the peacefulness, the reverence, the space for the spiritual and Divine. All are welcome at the table, they said. No buts.

I was terrified visiting this church. Even though I was in college, I was still trying to please my parents. I was paradigm shifting, but I was still on the fence. I tried to visit “bible-believing”churches that my parents approved of. They would call on Sundays and ask if I had gone to church, and where.I even went to a bible study that other former-homeschooled students ran that my parents knew, and I tried to make it work. But I could never escape the oppressive energy that I felt, and I never felt like I connected.

I later found out that certain “friends” at the bible study would indirectly report back to my parents if I had gone to the bible study or not, sometimes even relating questions I had voiced, thinking it was a safe space to talk the deepest questions of my heart. It was not. I had gone to college to escape from the repressive environment I grew up in, but I found myself in the exact same situation in college, and I was sick of it.

Now I was bucking the system. I was disobeying my parents by coming to this denomination. My parents had outright told me they didn’t want me to go to this church simply because it was not evangelical. It was not a “bible-believing church.”

I felt incredibly nervous walking into the church. It was so far from the tradition I had grown up in. What am I doing, I wondered. They had gay priests. Gay priests!* Maybe I was just going to be deceived, lose all my morals, and go to hell like my parents thought.

But they were kind, and open to questions, and all were welcome at the table.

(*Yes, unfortunately, I had a lot of homophobia to work through).

XII.

I went back home to visit, and people asked me if I had found a church.

“I’m still looking, I would say,” which was partly true. But the more true answer was that I didn’t want to go to church.

I didn’t have the energy to tell them that the churches I was interested were not churches they would approve of, and I didn’t have the courage to tell them that I didn’t think organized religion made a lot of sense. I couldn’t explain to them the subtle terror I felt when hanging around church people and religion, because I felt like it was all a set up, fake, and cultish.

So I stopped talking to people about it, because there weren’t people who would listen without condemning, and there weren’t people who would converse without forcing me to change.

XIII.

I was paradigm shifting, not finding the answers in Christianity…not finding the healing I needed in Christianity. This just doesn’t make any sense, I often thought.

My parents only wanted to consider help from Christian counselors for my eating disorder, which ended in disaster. I finally convinced them to let me see a secular, spiritualistic, Buddhist-ish therapist. Basically the opposite of everything my parents wanted.

I learned to trust myself again, to love myself, and the importance of self-care– things that I couldn’t find in Christianity; things that were vital to my healing.

I’m forever grateful that my parents supported this, even though they were incredibly fearful, because they did care and saw how much I was improving.

And it was through this that I was learning how to have personal boundaries, to be confident in having my own opinions separate from my parents, to be comfortable in my body (comfortable enough to wear a bikini for the first time in my life!) I learned how to distance myself from all the negative, oppressive energy I felt around fundamentalists.

I was learning to be my own person, to live, to experience and not run from my emotions. I was learning how to express myself without fear for the first time. I was learning to be myself. Icebergs were melting.

XIV.
I have not given up on Christianity or religion per se, entirely. I don’t know if I could sum up what I think about things now; that’d take another post. Somedays I miss the small world I lived in, because well, it was simplistic and black and white. Somedays I long for that certainty, but then again, it wasn’t real certainty. I still had a lot of salvation anxiety.

I don’t really know what I believe. But I’m tired of looking for black and white answers, and these are the questions that you have to live through, you have to experience.

But you know, I’m pretty sure I’m on the right path. For as much as uncertainty there is in giving up on certainty, it’s also reassuring and calming. And I know that overall, as hard as transitioning to life outside of the bubble can be, it’s better. There’s never been a real moment where I wanted to go back.

I mean, you should see how much I laugh these days, how much I smile, and how free I am.

38 thoughts on “My Story: Questioning”

your journey is almost identical to my journey. I stand with you. There is something wonderful out here, and I believe it is a gift that we have received, the questions we have. the gift hurts sometimes, but i would never go back. I cant wait to reach a place of confidence and equilibrium, though.

Ooooooooh I get what you are saying too. And I literally lol over the NT Wright comment. I had to read him in a freshman religion course. I thought he was so liberal, and I was all biased against. Now I cringe after I’ve read the real liberal theologians. I could never give up theism completely because atheism fails too many questions for me. Oh, and Recovering Grace and Quivering Daughters were the first stories I read too although through my involvement in HSA we had already questioned a lot together. In fact, I know the people behind those.

Good for you. Life doesn’t have to be as hard as most religions make it. It really doesn’t. It’s not always easy, but most of the obstacles are man-made. And imposed by other people, as you have found.

The freedom of not having to worry about what other people think of every little thing is many times more than worth the worry of making your own decisions. Other people’s disapproval won’t kill you. As time goes on, it won’t even be an issue. It won’t even enter your mind. You’ll make decisions based on what’s best for you and your own conscience, not on what other people think is “good” or “godly” or “acceptable.”

I went through something like this. I knew I wasn’t perfect, I knew there were things I didn’t understand, so I didn’t feel like I had the ability to discern truth or the right to doubt. I hope you don’t end up hating yourself like I did. People have to be more important than dogma, so be kind to yourself okay?

If you haven’t found it yet, I suggest the Slacktivist blog, at Patheos. He’s a liberal/progressive evangelical, a category that I expect would give your parents a stroke. He’s also smart, funny and compassionate. And has the past ten years gradually deconstructing the “Left Behind” series for its horrible writing, theology morals and characters, and horrible everything else. The blog also has a wonderful group of commenters.

I suspect he will have much to say that goes to the heart of what you’re exploring.

You are a talented writer. Thank you for sharing your story. I grew up secular and I can’t imagine my parents minding at all what church I visited or if I visited one. They would be surprised and my dad would tease but I certainly wouldn’t expect anything negative. I am so very lucky. I must get on the phone and tell mum and dad I love them. I’m glad your parents could help you get healing even when they didn’t really understand how it was working for you.

Oh my word this could be me! Thank you so much for sharing your experience, because it helps those of us still trying to find our way. You and Libby Anne give us a voice and put words to the thoughts and emotions we don’t even recognize we are feeling. I can’t even tell you how much comfort I find in reading both of your blogs. I especially loved #13 and 14 – my thoughts exactly.

I went through the exact same feelings and struggles! Sometimes, I too wish I could live in that small world again, but at some point you realize that the world was so small because you chose to exclude so many things that are necessary and good. I love your writing, by the way, can’t wait to read more from you! :)

While my path has been vastly different from yours: raised indifferently Jewish, turned atheist, returned to a personal brand of Quakerism, reading this post reminded me of the writings of early Quakers. Living in a time of religious and social turmoil, they yearned for internal revelation and turned to each other for support in their spiritual search.

The religion is still centered around a communal search for individual truth. It is a faith that believes each person is capable of direct divine revelation, and that “divine” is up to each person to define. Moreover, they have been a feminist faith since the 1660s: forcefully insisting that women are equal in ministry to men.

If there is a Meeting near you, I'd suggest you check them out, especially if they are Friends General Conference (FGC) affiliates (they tend to be the most liberal). There’s even a traditional practice called a “Clearness Committee,” I believe you would find helpful. Because there are no ministers or priests with authority over a Meeting, the early Quakers had to devise a process to offer guidance to each other. One writes a letter to the “Ministry and Counsel Committee”; outlining a deep conflict, uncertainty, etc in one’s life. They organize a small group of Friends to join you in silent contemplation, asking questions out of that silence. Those questions are meant to help you discover the truth within yourself, and you have complete discretion on how or whether to answer. The worship lasts about three hours and you can request another session if you'd like.

Moreover, the worship is absolutely privileged. Not only are the members of the committee prohibited from disclosing anything to others, but they are also enjoined from approaching you to discuss what occurred. You may, of course, approach them to continue the discussion, but that choice is yours alone.

I have not participated in a Clearness Committee myself, but friends have, and they speak of them as deeply nourishing and clarifying experiences.

If you would like to read more, the FGC website is a great place to start.

I could relate to your story, particularly the part about realizing your faith in Jesus was tied together with very specific interpretations of biblical events. When I first started going to a church that was liturgical and welcoming to everyone, I felt guilty and rebellious. Once I got to know the people there, I came face to face with the fact that their faith didn’t depend on the same things mine had, but it was still real. That was the beginning for me opening up to alternate belief systems.

Losing that sense of certainty I used to have sometimes makes me sad. But overall I’m a much happier person who feels freedom and can appreciate the beauty of complex, grey areas.

I can relate! The image that I stumbled on was that my belief was like a tiny slapped-together shack, and I was always having to patch holes in it so that The Outside couldn’t get in. But I was so bored and lonely and claustrophobic in that shack! And every now and then something from Outside would get in and it was so interesting. And then one day I dared to open the door and walk Outside and it was beautiful (and scary sometimes). There were stars and wind and trees. How could I go back into the shack after that? And I never have. I don’t know if there’s a god anymore and I’m ok with that. Not an atheist, really, because I loved my feeling of connection to God and would be sad if it were all untrue, so I can’t help hoping it is. But willing to just be uncertain, if that’s how it has to be.

Thanks for sharing your story! I relate to a lot of it as well. Especially that alienated feeling of trying to attend the same bible studies after you’ve started questioning. Sometimes my thought process was so different, I didn’t even know how to possibly begin explaining it.

It took several years for me to get comfortable with the new uncertainty that came with losing my fundamentalist faith, but I am very happy with my choice. Feeling more confident, and most of all–free. I’m still navigating a lot of things, too, like how to relate to family and friends. But there’s no deadline or time when I have to come up with my final, black-and-white answer, so that’s comforting to me.

Great to hear your story. As a parent I really try to let my kids ask any question. It makes me want to try harder. I do think they all have answers. For me, the answer was similar to what Christian Smith discovered. That the bible alone is not the answer but that does not mean Christianity is wrong. Long story shirt, we both ended up Catholic. Anyway, I shall pray for you.